Anyone who knows me, knows I like all things beauty. Hair and makeup, gadgets and gizmos, I love it all.
My eyes twinkle with delight as I enter spas and makeup stores. I find great joy in pampering myself and trying new beauty products.
A few years ago, I was feeling pretty bad about life. I wasn’t where I wanted to be and I felt like I was losing.
As a beauty junkie, the most obvious remedy for my melancholy was to book me a date with my hairdresser. And boy oh boy, was I excited!
For days, I fantasized about my new do. I envisioned a platinum blond bob that would be classic, cool and oh so chic.
The highly anticipated hair transformation day came. And you know what? No magical metamorphosis did I find in my mirror. In fact, my new hairdo turned out more canary yellow than platinum and it looked more like a bowl-cut than a bob.
I cried as I drove home from the hairdresser’s.
I cried because, well, my hair looked bad, really bad. Beyond that (and more importantly), I cried because I realized I had put too much hope in my haircut.
You see, I had secretly believed my new style would help me find new success, new accomplishments and new credibility. I believed my new hair would launch me into next level Janedom: confident, bold and ready to take on the world. Instead, I was given a tragic haircut and a sobering confrontation of my mislaid faith.
My deep disappointment compelled me to take an honest look at my misplaced hope. Frivolous things don’t change the heart, compel a vision or heal the soul. Important matters require clarity, tenacity and an honest reflection of where we are at.
While I still salivate over the launch of a new makeup line, or the thought of looking like it I “got it going on”, I realize these things don’t change what matter most. The human condition is far too precious, far too intricate to be untangled by a haircut.